


I Want This

by wanheda_two_heda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Pining!Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 20:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11260752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanheda_two_heda/pseuds/wanheda_two_heda
Summary: Clarke's spoiled, rich princess attitude has always irked Bellamy when he wasn't too busy crushing on her. And her attitude is what leads to a lot of their fights at work. But when Clarke gets a call in the middle of one of these arguments and she needs a ride to the hospital, Bellamy realizes that he might have been wrong about the feisty blonde all along.





	I Want This

**Author's Note:**

> **Bellarke Semi-Finalist for Best One-Shot - Hurt/Comfort & Angst**

Clarke storms into his classroom the minute the bell rings, her blonde hair flowing behind her, and her eyes blazing. Bellamy swallows. He figures she’s angry about one thing or another. That’s the only reason the spoiled princess ever talks to him. She’s either making demands or complaining about something he’s done. Or both. Most often, it’s both. He wishes she wasn’t so damn hot when she was angry because she was infuriating and entitled and annoying and absolutely everything he wanted in a woman, never mind the fact that she pushes each and every one of his buttons.

“Are you kidding me, Blake?” she half whispers as she stomps over to his desk. 

The last few kids remaining in the class risk a glance at them with wide eyes. He wants to laugh, but her piercing gaze has him tamping down the urge. His students are constantly asking him about why he’s always bickering with Ms. Griffin, and he tries to brush it off, but more often than not, he ends up a stuttering, blushing mess because he can’t tell a bunch of  _ teenagers _ that his biggest rival in the whole school also drives him crazy in the best of ways. And he’s pretty peeved that Monty and Jasper - of all people - were the first two to notice his less than platonic feelings for the art teacher. 

“I don’t think I’ve said anything or done anything funny yet today, no, so I don’t think so, Prin - Ms. Griffin,” he amends at the last second, noticing a lingering Jasper and Monty. He smirks at her.

They snicker and walk away, hopefully not having caught his slip up.

“You’re so frustrating, Bellamy!” she says, throwing her hands up. “Why would you book my art room for Friday night? Our gallery show is in two weeks, and my students need to finish their projects!”

“That’s great, Princess,” he says now that the classroom is empty, “but my trivia team has quarter finals next week and we need to practice, because I’m not losing to Polis Public High again!” Polis has won three years in a row, and he won’t lost to them this year.

“Okay, but why does your nerd hoard need my art room?” she asks, exasperated. 

“Because it’s big, and they all fit. Don’t call them nerds, Clarke.”

“They  _ are _ nerds! You just can’t see it because you’re the same as them!”

“Did you just call me a nerd?”

“Change your room booking. I need my art room.”

“You don’t always get what you want. I know you’re used to that with how mommy and daddy have always spoiled you, but I booked the room because I need it. I’m not just going to change that because you’re throwing a hissy fit!”

“Bellamy - ”

Whatever she’d been planning to say is cut off by the sound of her phone ringing loudly in her pocket. She sighs.

“I’m not done. Nerd,” she adds, and it sounds the slightest bit teasing.

Before Bellamy can spit out a retort, she accepts the call and brings the phone up to her ear. She walks further away from him as she talks, and he leans back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits for her to finish up. His eyes trail her as she paces back and forth across the front of his classroom. And it’s not like he’s trying to eavesdrop, but her voice gets progressively louder.

“What?” she asks, and he hears her voice shake. “Mom, slow down. Mom. Mom! What happened? When? Where are you? Mom, tell me where you are.”

His back straightens, and he considers going over to her, but he doesn’t know her well enough to know if she needs space right now or not. It makes his anxiety rise to know that something is wrong. And he definitely knows that something is wrong. Her voice isn’t hiding a thing.

“Mom?” she says, and she’s nearly crying now. Her voice cracks as she tries to talk. “Okay. Okay, I’ll be right there.”

He’s already looking at her when Clarke turns to look at him, and then she’s hurrying towards him, her eyes darting around the class anxiously. He can almost see her head spinning. She stops a few feet away from him and looks at him like he has all the answers in the world. Her eyes start to water, and he wants to reach out to her, because they might have just been bickering, but now she’s hurt, and he wants to comfort her. He doesn’t though. He waits for her to tell him what she needs.

“My dad,” she says, breaking their eye contact and looking around the room slowly like she’s not really seeing anything at all.

“Clarke?” Bellamy prompts after a moment.

“My dad was in a car accident. I have to go. I have to go to the hospital,” she says, but she’s talking like she’s far away. “What time is the next bus at?”

What she’s asking doesn’t register. Bus? But then it hits him. The princess doesn’t have a car. “Come on,” he says, taking her hand and pulling her out of the classroom, not even shutting the door behind them. “I’ll drive you.”

The ride to the hospital is silent. Clarke doesn’t offer up any more information, but the minute they’re in the car, she takes his hand, and doesn’t let go. She has a tight grip on his fingers, but as long as she knows that he’s there for her, Bellamy doesn’t mind. He hurries, driving above the speed limit while staying safe, and he parks in the spot the closest to the door when they get to the hospital.

Clarke jumps out of the car and he jogs after her, guiding her through the halls to the emergency department with a hand on the small of her back. Clarke is out of breath when they reach the front desk, but she doesn’t stop for a moment to breathe before asking about Jake Griffin. 

The nurse opens her mouth to say something, but she’s cut off by a woman shouting, “Clarke!”

The woman looks like Clarke, though older. She has dirty blonde hair that hangs past her shoulders and a lean body. She’s been crying. Her eyes are puffy and red. Her lower lip shakes as she steps forward. A sob breaks free from her throat, and Bellamy knows what’s coming before the older woman even shakes her head. This time, his arms are outstretched and ready to catch Clarke when she turns around and falls against him. Bellamy doesn’t hesitate before pulling her against him and holding Clarke tight as she sobs into his shoulder. He rubs soothing circles into her back and stays with her at the hospital until she’s ready to go home.

* * *

 

The wake is on Friday. He cancels the trivia team practice so that he can drive over to the funeral home as soon as his students are let out for the weekend. He’s dressed more formally than usual to save time, and is ready to go as soon as his room is locked up. Monty and Jasper had asked him if he’s dressed so fancy because he’s sneaking out to go marry Ms. Griffin. Jasper even asked if he’ll have to call her Mrs. Blake on Monday. Bellamy hadn’t even answered, just snapped at them to take their seats. Clarke hadn’t been at school.

When he walks into the funeral home, he’s greeted by a priest that he nods politely to, but brushes past. He need to get to Clarke and make sure she’s okay. Hushed voices are coming from the far end of the main corridor, so that’s where he heads. Bellamy sees her before Clarke sees him. She’s wearing a knee-length plain black dress with short little sleeves over her shoulders and her hair is down. She’s talking to a group of old women but looks like she doesn’t want to be there. He braces himself, not having been to a wake since his mother’s, and walks in. Clarke’s head snaps up and her game face comes on, ready to greet another grieving person coming to pay their respects. Her expression changes when she sees him in his black dress shirt and pants with a blue tie. She gives him a smile that looks real despite all the sadness marring her features. 

He doesn’t know what he’s going to say - didn’t even think to prepare anything - but he’s saved from having to say anything at all when she walks right up to him and wraps her arms around his torso. Her high heels make her tall enough to rest her head on his shoulder rather than against, and her nose fits into the hollow at the base of his throat like it’s been meant for her all along. In fact, all of her feels like it’s meant to fit perfectly in his arms.

“You came,” she says against the skin of his neck, and he can feel her wet eyelashes flutter.

He ducks his head against hers to be closer to her, to enclose them in this quiet bubble meant just for the two of them. “Of course I came, Princess,” he says, and the name sounds more like a sweet nickname than a jab at her upbringing.

“Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t let you do this alone.”

And he doesn’t. Bellamy stays by her side all night, his arm around her or his hand on her back, constantly reminding her that he’s right there to support her when she needs it. She introduces him to her mother - Abby - when Abby recognizes him from the hospital. Abby asks Clarke why Clarke never mentioned that she was seeing anyone.

“It’s not like that, Mom,” Clarke says quietly like she just doesn’t have the energy to keep anything up anymore. 

Abby nods in understanding, and Bellamy squeeze’s Clarke’s hip reassuringly, hoping to convey that the question hasn’t bothered him. He knows that he and Clarke aren’t together. And he knows that this is the last place to be discussing his feelings for hers. Bellamy stays with her until the night is over, until everyone has left, and it’s only him, Clarke, and Abby left in the funeral home. At some point, Clarke had laced her fingers through his, and she’s standing and playing with his hand, knowing she has to go but not able to make herself leave. 

It’s Abby who breaks the silence. “Clarke, honey, are you ready to go? I’ll drive you home.”

“You live on the opposite side of town, Mom,” Clarke says, wrapping her free arm around Bellamy’s while not letting go of his hand. She looks up at him, and he nods. “Bellamy can drive me home.”

“Are you sure?” Abby asks.

“It’s really no problem,” Bellamy assures.

* * *

 

“I owe you for everything,” Clarke says, turning to him when he parks in front of her apartment building. It’s not where he expected her to live.

“You don’t. I know how terrible it is to lose a parent.”

“At least come inside and have a drink?” she asks.

He can tell that she doesn’t want to be alone just yet, so he accepts. He parks the the car, and Clarke leads him up the stairs to her apartment on the fourth floor. The elevator has been broken for three months. When she opens the door to her apartment, Bellamy doesn’t know what to expect anymore. He’d been so wrong about her. Clarke walks inside, slipping off her shoes by the door, and he follows. Her apartment is smaller than his, he notes.

She walks silently to the kitchen, and he pads after her. Bellamy watches as she stretches up on the tips of her toes to reach two glass tumblers on a higher shelf. He can see the bottle of whiskey sitting on top of the fridge, and Bellamy lets her struggle for a bit, if only for the satisfaction of knowing that she can’t do  _ everything _ before going over to help.

“Here, let me,” he says, unthinkingly sliding his hand down her side from her ribs to her hip and resting it there.

She jumps back, but only presses herself against the freezer, the tumblers clattering in her hands.  _ Shit _ , he thinks. He hadn’t wanted to do anything to indicate his feelings - not now, not  _ yet _ \- but he hadn’t even thought about what he was doing.

“Bellamy,” she says quietly, looking up at him. 

His hand is still up and resting against the top of the fridge, reaching for the bottle of Jack. He’s effectively trapping her in. Bellamy knows he should step back, but she’s looking at him, and he can’t look away from her gaze. Her breath stutters before she bites her lower lip nervously. 

“Clarke,” he exhales, and it sounds like a question. He’s leaning towards her before he can even think about what he’s doing, but she ducks away before he can kiss her.

“Ice or neat?” she asks, ducking under his arm.

He lets his head fall. “Clarke, I’m sorry - ”

“No, it’s okay,” she says casually, taking the bottle from him and pouring them each a glass. Hers is considerably more full than his. 

Bellamy leans his hip against the counter to sip his whiskey and watches Clarke knock back her drink without even flinching. She puts the glass down on the counter with a clatter and pours herself another two fingers, taking the tumbler and walking over to the sink to drink it slowly, her back to him. 

“Clarke - ” he tries again.

She puts her glass down on the counter and whirls on him, storming towards him with a determined fire in her eyes. He opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t have time to before she’s fisting her hands into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him down to her. He reacts the second her lips touch his, wrapping his arms around her, one around her waist, the other around her shoulders, his hand sliding up into her hair. He lets her dip back, supporting her, while he crowds over her while he kisses her slowly, hoping that she understands just how much he adores her. He brings her back up when they’re both out of breath, peppering her mouth with kiss after kiss while she smiles and tries to keep up with her.

Bellamy holds her against him when she sighs happily and tucks her head into the side of his neck. He’s sure she can hear his heart pounding. He holds her tight and sways her back and forth while she snuggles into him. 

“Bell - ”

“We don’t have to decide what this means just yet,” he says before she can ask the question. “I know you’ve got a lot going on emotionally right now, and I don’t want you jumping into something if you’re not sure that you want it. But I’ll be right here until you’re ready to figure it out.”

She presses up onto her tiptoes to slide her hands into his hair and kiss him deeply like she has all the time in the world. He has to back her into the counter, because he’s not sure he can hold them both up with his head spinning the way it is, but Clarke gives as good as she takes, and he could get lost in the way her mouth moves on his.

“I want this,” she says eventually when they break apart. 

He smirks. “At least take the weekend before you decide,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and kissing the crown of her head. “I’ll always be here if you need me, but let’s not rush into this. I don’t want to mess this up.”

* * *

The next Monday, Clarke waits until they’re the last two in the staff room before walking up to him and giving him a soft, slow kiss. He wraps his arms around her to hold her to him. She leans back to look him in the eyes, and he can swear that they’re sparkling.

“I thought about it,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you decide?”

“That you can take me out for dinner if I can have my art room back.”

He laughs, a full hearty laugh. “You’re impossible, woman,” he says, nuzzling her nose with his before kissing the tip of it. 

They jump apart at the sound of a fist banging on the pane of glass that lines the door to the staff room. Jasper and Monty are standing in the window, giving their teachers thumbs-up. Bellamy glares at them, but Jasper throws open the door and shouts, “Yeah, Mr. Blake! Get some!” before leaving for class.

**Author's Note:**

> I do **actual** writing in my spare time! Come find me at [@pascale_writes](https://twitter.com/pascale_writes) or let's hang out on [Tumblr](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/)


End file.
